


Dissolved Girl

by VioletHellfire



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Blow Jobs, Chains, Come Swallowing, Despite the title its for either gender, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, F/M, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, The whole thing is kind of borderline, prisoner reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26536372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHellfire/pseuds/VioletHellfire
Summary: "'Cause it feels like I've beenI've been here beforeYou are not my saviorBut I still don't go"-Massive Attack
Relationships: Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Reader
Kudos: 10





	Dissolved Girl

His metal fingers grip at your hair as he slides in, pushing, directing, not waiting for your approval. A near-silent huff escapes his lips as he hits the back of your throat, before pulling himself back out and doing it again, just as slow, just as deliberate. You breathe in, holding it for one, exhaling on two, metered, measured, and familiar.

_You heard the door. You knew. He walks over to you without any formality, leading you from the small cell he kept you in, and drags you along to the center of the room, dark and hardly lit, just barely past where you slept, where you sat, where you existed. Your hands are_ _always bound by iron cuffs and chains, heavy, scented with rust and age, their dented chimes ringing as you moved._ _He takes his hand while looking you directly in the eye, and pushes your shoulder down, curt, stiff, unyielding, until you were on your knees, a command, an unsaid one, face looking down at you, flat and unamused. The stone floor did you no favors against your bare skin, but it was never about you, anyway. You were only there for him. And he made sure you understood that._

He goes in to the base again, pausing as he hits the back, eyes closing for the briefest of seconds. You try to accommodate him by pushing your tongue against the underside, throat flexing a little as you did, faint swallows curling at its tip. His fingers tighten incrementally in approval. 

_He looks down on you as you knelt, his eyes never carrying anything in them other than a vague disinterest. He slowly circles you, hands behind his back, as if you were something to be examined, a specimen, a display. The faint tick-skiff of his mismatched feet echoed as he did, before stopping in front of you again. He sighs, almost as if he didn't have a choice, as if he didn't really want to do whatever he was about to do next._

He slides in more fluidly now, his movements gaining in purpose, but still tame enough that it doesn't demand anything of you yet. You know its coming though. You know its only a matter of time before he takes it, takes all that he can of you, and then sends you back from where you came. A bead of saliva forms on the corner of your mouth in anticipation.

_He grabs your face with his good hand, fingers and thumb on opposite sides, forcing you to look up at him at an odd angle, cheeks smothered by the glove. The smell of something acrid lingers, something overbearingly like the sent of chemical death. He clicks in disapproval, boot idly shifting the chains on the floor where your arms hang. "It's never enough for you, is it?" he asks, face faintly scowling. You know he's not really asking you. You know he's not expecting a response._

You feel him tap gently against your face, the light gathering of hair there cushioning each push in, each muffled brush of skin on skin, each pass gliding against your lips. Strings of want hang in slow threads on your chin, falling helplessly in gathered heavy drops on your chest, and eventually the floor. He'd scold you for that later. You weren't allowed to leave a mess. You weren't allowed to waste.

_He drops your face, and you watch as he bites something between his fingers, making a soft crumbling sound. He deftly, and unceremoniously, takes his hand and fists your hair, grabbing it by the roots, and wrenches it back. You arch yourself to keep your airway open. He leans in and crushes his mouth to yours, plush lips smashing on contact, teeth grazing warmed folds and flesh. His tongue dives past it all and goes deep, pushing something that stings to the back, imposing, directing, eliciting you to swallow. You do so, dutifully. It's bitter, and powdery, and reminds you of nights you had long forgotten._

He rumbles, like a mix between a growl and a purr, as he rolls his head and eyes indistinctly, breath catching on little pants and gasps. His skin is glowing, the normally paperwhite tone blooming in hues of carnation, trailing down his neck, rosettes of pleasure coloring him in places where nothing else would. His fingers curl, mechanical joints catching, pulling, as the faint squeak of his leg gives tempo to his pace. 

_He pulls away, looking down to make sure whatever it was is gone, before letting go entirely, the requirement met, posture upright once again. Almost as a reaction, you lick the roof of your mouth, taking it in, forcing down whatever remnants remained. It settles in your stomach, empty and raw, and stirs, a floating, bubbling prick of nausea, as washes of blood flood your face, water rising, gathering, threatening to tumble forward and onto the floor below. He notices the subtle shift in you, and tips his chin forward, watching, observing, waiting._

You sit, as you were told, stiff but pliant, countering the stuttering in his thighs, as he plunges as far as he can go, bruising, driving, chasing that rising coil of satisfaction. Your hands instinctually try to raise themselves so you could brace yourself from his slowly unraveling rhythm, but the clatter of metal on stone reminds you of your position. You are there for him. You are to do nothing but allow yourself to be used.

_Your shoulders sink, but they don't collapse. There is a rising burn that feathers its way up, darts enfolding muscle and bone, the gentle hum of a placid weight coming down, tendrils touching, caressing, but never constricting. All at once you feel like you could melt and slither down a drain, liquid, pooling, fluid. But at the same time though, you also feel as if you could drift and stray, coasting, lost to wherever the wind and the room would take you. You don't feel totally yourself, but you're aware, and alert, and somehow, more than accepting of where you are. You look up at him, your eyes expectant but relaxed, as the corner of his mouth quirks up in a flash before its gone._

You know its coming. You can feel his body quake, subtle shudders rolling off of him in waves, rasping in moments of air, as he hangs his head back, temporarily unglued. His eyes glaze over, unfocused, hazy, almost as if he were staring into the sun, open but so far gone. He thrusts shallowly a few times before burying himself completely again, reaching his tipping point. He cries, low and drawn out, trembling, faltering as he spills, splashing the back of your throat, filling your mouth. You obediently drink him in, all of it. It sustains you as it slides down, thick, and gently viscous. Somewhere it reminds you of warm, melted ice cream.

He takes two full breaths in before he pulls away, finished. Strings of saliva trail from the points from where the two of you met, sagging before breaking, dark spots joining all the others just below. With a snap, he flicks his metal wrist, the same one that was embedded on top of your head, tugging, dragging, merely tossing you to the side in one effortless movement, spent and no longer useful. You can't resist, and you can do nothing but follow, shoulder hitting the floor with a muted smack, a chorus of chains scraping along as you went. 

He looks down at you again, that same look of distaste taking control, as the flush begins bleeding out from his body, halo fading, his actions already nothing more than a memory. 

You know the moment he regains his composure fully that you'll be put back into that cell, forced and forgotten again until he has use of you. It wouldn't be too long, though. It never was. Your skin never fully heals in between, but it always just enough for you to regain feeling again. 

And again. And again. And again.

Despite it all, you look up at him, from your cold position on the floor, with a veiled sense of awe, burning cables of some unsaid feeling marking you from the inside. It caresses, it nips, and it leaves you more vulnerable than you were before, but you embrace it, gather it close, like swaths of silk and linen. 

He sneers, sharply adjusting himself, turning on his heel. 

He walks away.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this overwhelming compulsion to write this, despite having never written sexy stuff before. It was seriously something that wouldn't leave me alone until I did it, so I managed to punch it out in just a day. Hopefully one of you out there will enjoy. 
> 
> Title of this work comes from a Massive Attack song of the same name. Go give it a listen. 
> 
> As always, comments of any kind and kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
